Our Secret
by Angelsaurus
Summary: America—who is a girl in this story—collapses during a world meeting and Russia's worry over her forces him to come clean about their secret relationship.


Free Talk: This is just a fill I did for the Hetalia Kink Meme on Livejournal between working on the next chapter of _Outcast_. It is my first ever fill. The request was for a fluffy cute story about Russia being overprotective of **female** America, who is secretly his lover and pregnant. Lately I have fallen hard for Russia/Girlmerica (though I ship original flavor America with England and Russia and various others). So I hope somebody besides me likes this pairing and finds it kind of cute. The original posting had some typos but I think I caught them all.

**Our Secret**  
By Angelsaurus

There was a practiced method to the way Russia watched America during these meetings. He'd steal a sidelong glance while the other nations were mired in an argument, feign a glare of contempt when really his eyes were narrowed to focus in on her finger twisting distractedly around a strand of gold hair if she was bored or her lower lip puffing out in a childish pout if she wasn't getting her way. She really was a brat. But so beautiful; her hair was amber waves of grain and her mountains, while not purple, were nonetheless majestic.

Lately it seemed like she was getting more gorgeous by the day, as if some small fire inside her had been lit and was being stoked each day so that more of its light shone through her translucent skin. America glowed like a California sunset and it was getting harder for Russia to hide his covert stares or disguise them as hateful sneers.

But today he stared for the opposite reason. Today America's fire had been snuffed. She looked downright sickly. Her skin was sallow and waxy; her eyes were dull and unfocused, like cloudy blue marbles pitted deeply into shadowy sockets. Worst of all, though, was how her speech and body language had been stripped of their typical vim and vigor. When she spoke, her voice was tired and she took frequent pauses as if she'd forgotten what she'd been about to say.

Russia wondered if the difference was as jarring to the other nations as it was to him, or if perhaps they found her more bearable like this even. None of them spoke up and told her that she seemed sick and should go home to rest, and although Russia yearned to do just that, he knew that it would wound her national pride. It would also risk exposing how much he worried about her. So he said nothing.

America swayed almost imperceptibly on her feet as she spoke. "And that is why the only way to solve this global…" She paused mid-sentence, braced herself with one hand of the table in front of her and drew in a hiss of air through her teeth. Her free hand moved to cup her stomach lightly and Russia felt his insides twist.

"Perhaps the young Capitalist needs to sit down and collect her thoughts before making a speech," he said, loading the sentence with false derision and aiming it deliberately at the rest of assembly instead of at her. God, he hoped she would take the advice, stubborn, arrogant girl that she was.

"I'm fine!" she snarled. Then she put on an absurdly fake smile that failed to cover her obvious pain and chuckled. "I guess I shouldn't have had that third breakfast burrito."

_Liar_, Russia thought. He knew the normally ravenous nation hadn't eaten anything that morning; she'd been having so much trouble keeping anything down.

England, to America's left, let out a disdainful grunt as his eyes closed and his fingertips went to massage the space between his bushy eyebrows. "Look," he huffed. "As easy as it is to believe you really would pack away three oversized burritos before ten in the morning, it is patently clear that you are having your…" His face reddened as he stumbled over the end of the sentence, "…monthly… issues. So just excuse yourself and go to the loo. And in the future, be better prepared. You're a world power for Christ sake!"

"Hey!" America stamped her foot and flashed a nasty scowl at England. "This has nothing to do with… AH!" A cry of pain leapt from her throat and her face contorted into a wince.

Immediately, Russia was halfway out of his seat, hands in tight fists on the tabletop, but he stopped himself when he heard America let out a snort of defiance.

"I'm fine! It's not my period and it's nothing I can't handle!" After barking out her statement, America bowed her head, breathed heavily through her mouth as she supported herself on the table. The hand on her stomach clutched tightly.

Russia stared, terrified. Every muscle in his body was taut and trembling. But he didn't move up or down from his half-seated position. He didn't say anything.

"America, please!" Hungary's voice chimed in with an edge of exasperation. "You're being ridiculous!" She flew around the table to America's side and continued in a private tone. "I've got stuff in my bag that I'll share with you. I know you want to be tough, but… you're bleeding through your pants."

Russia was close enough that he heard every word and his eyes found the red stain between America's legs at the same time hers did. Both sets went wide in horror. Simultaneously, Russia rose and America fell. Fortunately, he was quick enough on his feet to reach her and catch her before she hit the ground. He eased himself and America to the floor and held her on his lap.

All around, little gasps of shock filled the air. Other nations stood up, craned their necks and asked questions, but Russia was focused only on the crumpled woman in his arms. She seemed smaller than she ever had before.

"Open your eyes," he pleaded quietly as his thumb ghosted over the soft ridge of her cheek. "Please, just open your eyes."

The long lashes fluttered in response to his voice and America's blue eyes opened slowly to half-lidded. "Russia," she whimpered. Such an un-American display of weakness meant she didn't even have enough strength to force a tough façade. But maybe she was just disarmed from seeing the blood. Maybe that's why she fainted.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" he shouted over his shoulder. Then he quickly turned his attention back to America, gentling her with strokes of his knuckles across her cheek. "Breath slow and steady," he whispered. "How bad is the pain?"

"Not that bad," she said, an obvious lie betrayed by the fact that her jaw remained clenched tight for the entire answer.

Russia cradled her closer to his chest. His heart was thudding wildly inside his ribcage and he wondered if she could feel it, if she knew how scared he was. "The ambulance will arrive quickly," he soothed. "I will hold you until it does."

"Alright! What the bloody hell has gotten into you, Russia?" England barked. "You're hugging America to you like a rag doll! You don't even like her! In fact, you hate her! And you want someone to call an ambulance? Are you serious?"

"Yeesh!" Hungary groaned. "It's just her stupid period. She needs a heating pad and some Midol, not an ambulance."

"It's not!" Russia snapped. He was too anxious, too agitated to hold anything back. "She's pregnant!" As the last word left his mouth, his right hand moved protectively over America's stomach.

"And how would _you_ know such a thing about _America_?" England asked haughtily. Most other nations were shifting uncomfortably on their feet and exchanging hushed comments; it seemed they were starting to piece together the improbable situation on their own.

"Because it is my child, too," Russia stated bluntly. It was all going to be revealed anyways, so he would just get it out of the way. "America and I are lovers."

The first reaction was a blanket of silence, but that only lasted a few seconds before the room erupted with questions from every mouth. Russia's shoulders lifted in agitation; he wanted to shut out all of their voices but they were so damn loud. The lives of the woman he loved and their unborn child were in peril and the last thing he wanted to do was give a detailed explanation of their relationship to a bunch of nosy nations.

"Hang in there, my dear one," he whispered in her ear.

"Dear one?" America snorted with a bit of her spark returned. "Don't get all mushy on me, Vanya. It's not like I'm going to die."

Russia's lips curled into a little smirk at the hypocrisy of America admonishing his sentimentality while calling him a pet name. "I will not let you die," he said. Her national pride could be damned at this point.

America steeled her expression. "I'm not going to lose our baby, Vanya." She made the statement with absolute conviction, placing her hand on top of his over her belly. A moment later, her teeth were clenched and her eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pain washed over her.

Less than five seconds later, the galloping of Russia's heartbeat was drowned out by the wail of the ambulance's siren.

He rode with her, grateful to be away from the meeting hall full of shocked nations still clamoring for answers. The entire time he held her small hand in his and she proceeded to roll her eyes at him any time the pain subsided.

"You're the one who should be admitted to the hospital," she scoffed. "Your face is as pale as a frickin' sheet. It's freaking me out a little, you getting freaked out. What happened to good ol' husky Ruskie? You know, that beat-you-to-death-with-a-shit-eater-smile-on-his-face-but-is-unbelieveable-in-bed Russia that I know and, for reasons beyond comprehension, love?"

Russia sighed and tried to smile, but he couldn't erase the worry from his features. "I wonder sometimes if I would care about you so much if you weren't such an idiot."

America smiled wanly at him and closed her eyes. She didn't say another word for the rest of the ride. And Russia just watched her resting face, tensing up each time it scrunched or twisted. Was the pain easing up or getting worse? Unfortunately, he couldn't trust anything America said on the matter. Oh, the bravado of this little brat.

When they arrived at the hospital, America was whisked away quickly by doctors who were clearly stunned by who she had arrived with but didn't have time to waste on questions. And Russia was ushered into the waiting room, which he soon discovered was the most miserable place in the world to be. His brain, with nothing else to do but worry, started to replay the last time he had expressed concern to America. Two months ago.

It had been a very pleasant morning. America was a strangely kinky woman whose libido was amplified by the notion that she was having a secret affair with her sworn enemy, but on this morning she had taken friskiness to a whole new level. As they recovered from their sunrise mating, naked bodies coiled together like two snakes, she let out a small laugh and said, "I'm pregnant." Just like that, as casually as she might say, "I'm hungry," which she actually said quite often.

Russia remembered how sharply upset he'd been at that moment. He tried to act like he was just annoyed by her flippant attitude over such a serious matter. He tried to convince her that she was the one who should be anxious over this news, when he was truly terrified.

"We are not human, you know," he told her in a fake-calm voice. "Don't you know what it means for a nation to give birth?"

She rolled off of him with a bored sigh and settled on the empty half of the bed. One finger idly circled her bare belly over the place where a tiny new entity had taken root. "Doesn't it mean there's going to be a new nation? Or state? Or, I dunno, a joint US-Russia space colony?"

When he heard her response, Russia propped himself up on both elbows and gaped down at her incredulously. "Do you even listen to yourself when you talk? There's no land left to put a new nation or state. And a space colony? Seriously?" He could feel the rage he kept bottled up during peace times bubbling deep in his belly. He didn't want to say something cruel to her, but she was being so damn stupid. "You having a baby means you're going to be replaced!"

America finally turned and gave him direct eye contact. "Replaced? That's ridiculous. I'm the United States of America, nobody can replace me."

"Well then maybe you will lose the baby before it is born!" Russia spat, and he could see immediately in America's eyes that the words sliced right through her heart. He felt the searing pain in the middle of his own chest and instantly regretted what he'd said.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," America huffed, putting on a defiant face even though there were tears on the lower rims of her eyelids. She twisted around so her back was to Russia and curled in on herself so she was talking to her stomach. "Daddy is being an asshole today," she said, loud enough that he knew he was meant to overhear it. "But don't worry, you'll get used to it. He's like that most of the time."

Russia let out a sigh of defeat. She always bested him in the most childish ways, though he couldn't deny that hearing her refer to him as "Daddy," even in a sardonic way, made his icy heart melt a few degrees. He would actually love the idea of impending fatherhood if it didn't have such dire implications.

He rolled onto his side and spooned America from behind, wrapping his arms around her torso, and whispered softly into her ear. "You know that I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I am only scared of losing you. I could not bear for you to die, my beautiful little Capitalist."

America stiffened coldly under his touch. "But you want our baby to die," she said tartly.

"Of course I do not want that," he said. "In a perfect world, you would both be able to live." He took a long pause. "And perhaps you both will live. The baby might be my replacement."

"Don't say that," America stammered. "Russia can't die. I won't stand for it. You're too important to… the world."

Russia knew what she really meant, heard the words she refused to say. America was a woman who showed her love by pitching her balled up, smelly socks at his head and then laughing about it. She didn't pitch woo, especially to him. Of course, he was no better at expressing how he felt about her.

"I am not going to die," he said.

"Well I'm not either," she said in her most stubborn voice. Then she spun around inside his embrace so they were face to face and he was surprised to see her wet eyes suddenly so close. She touched a fingertip to the point of his nose, which she always claimed was his most attractive feature. "And I'm not going to lose our baby, Vanya."

And that had been the end of the discussion. There could be no arguing with America after she'd made such an absolute declaration. After that, she always spoke of the baby—only to him, privately, of course, since none of the other nations even knew about their relationship—with overflowing affection. No mention of the risk involved was ever made, by her or by him. But Russia silently watched her stomach like a ticking time bomb and wondered if she did, too, or if she was really that deep in denial.

Thinking back to that day, to that fight, Russia knew that at the time, he would have accepted any sacrifice if it meant that America would live, even her losing the baby. But during the two months that followed, all the love she poured on that tiny, unseen life started to affect him, too. At night he would sleep with his fingers laced into hers over her stomach. She had never been so tender towards him before. She had never been so happy before.

And Russia loved the little creature that made her so happy.

Now, faced with the reality that America was losing their baby, Russia felt like his heart was being torn to pieces in his chest. He knew that he had started to really want the baby, but he didn't realize just how badly until now. The pain of it was suddenly overwhelming and he buried his face in his hands and gave in to sobs.

"Russia?"

He looked up through sore, puffy eyes to see the blurred shape of a doctor framed in the doorway to the waiting room. "Yes?" he croaked.

The doctor stepped closer and touched his shoulder. "America is stable. You can come back and see her now."

Russia stood up and managed a small smile at the news. As he followed the doctor through sterile white hallways, he wanted to ask her about the baby, but for some reason couldn't make his tongue work. Meanwhile, his brain was busy analyzing why she hadn't mentioned it right away. Did that indicate good news or bad news?

The doctor stopped in front of a door and turned to Russia. "She's in here, awake and alert. She understands what happened so I'll let her tell you." There was a small current of anxiousness running through the doctor's words. Russia knew that he had that affect on people, that his size and his reputation disconcerted them. But now he wondered if she was nervous in advance over how he would react to what America had to say. Maybe that is why she couldn't just tell him herself.

He wiped his messy face on the sleeve of his jacket and entered the room with a knot of dread in his stomach. America was tucked under a hospital blanket and dressed in a hospital nightgown. An IV line ran from a plump, clear bag of fluid to a vein on the inside of her arm. Her face was aimed squarely at the glowing TV set at the foot of her bed, but her eyes flickered over when Russia approached.

"Hey," he said cautiously.

"Hey," she responded unenthusiastically. Then she returned her gaze to the television set and started flipping rapidly through channels with the remote control. It had to be a nervous activity as she wasn't even stopping on any show long enough to see what it was.

"Stop that," he gently chided, reaching out and taking the remote from her. He pressed the mute button before setting it out of her reach. "Look at me, America."

She looked pointedly away from him for just a second or two before relenting and giving him her undivided attention. Her face was unreadable. America actually had a very good poker face when she wanted to.

"How do you feel?" Russia asked delicately. He wanted to take hold of her hand, but her arms had been crossed indignantly over her chest since he wrested away the TV remote.

Her body language and her facial expression softened slowly as she answered. "Better. The doctor said it was a bad combination of exhaustion, false labor, and breakthrough bleeding due to low implantation… or something like that. I didn't have a miscarriage."

Warmth, like sunshine, flooded Russia's chest and flowed out to every corner of his body. A small but very grateful smile bloomed on his face. "The baby is alright?"

"Yeah," America said. "For now." She looked at Russia's happy face with a mild look of confusion on her own. "You aren't disappointed?"

"Of course not," he said. "How could I be disappointed that our baby is healthy? You do not realize how much I care about this little one. But I guess that is my fault for never telling you."

America's face brightened. Her eyes were wide and watery. "You really do love this baby?"

He leaned in close and pressed his forehead against hers. "Just as much as you do."

"Well I dunno about that," America said. She started off smirking but became more serious when she continued. "You know, I've been thinking about it a lot, and if I had to die for our child to live, I think I would do it. I know that pisses you off, but I can't help it. And maybe if I have to be replaced, this America will be even stronger than I am because it is part you, too, Russia."

"Or it will be a stronger new Russia because it is part America," Russia said. "I, too, would lay down my life if it meant that you and the baby will both live."

America loosed a challenging snort. "If anybody is going to die for this baby and be a hero, it's me."

"Ah, but you're wrong. It will be me," Russia said with a wicked grin.

"Nuh-uh. You don't get to die without my permission," said America. "And I'm not giving it."

"I won't let you die, either," said Russia.

So they were at a stalemate once again. But they were both smiling widely, both overjoyed in the moment that their little family was safe for now. Russia kissed America's temple and she reached one hand behind his head and redirected him to her lips. It was a very good kiss.

"I guess we should enjoy this time before we have to go back out and answer the world's many questions," Russia sighed. "The cat is out of the bag now."

America didn't respond right away and when she did, it had nothing to do with anything Russia had said. "Turn the volume back on," she said, eyes glued on the TV screen. Her intense focus on the silent news program made it clear that she wasn't just trying to ignore him again. Russia did as she asked and the reporter's voice came on mid-sentence.

"…the announcement is a huge one for the scientific community and potentially for all of mankind. Leaders of the two countries say that construction of the first two colonies on the Moon could begin as early as six months from now. Again, this is an incredibly historic collaboration between the two former Cold War enemies. American and Russian governments are very excited about this joint project and so is the entire world."

The news show went to a commercial and Russia and America just turned to each other and stared for a moment. Then their eyes moved to America's stomach for a moment. And then back to each other.

Russia couldn't think of anything that needed to be said and was grateful that America didn't feel the need to point out that her idea, the one he'd made fun of, had been right all along. He leaned down and pressed a kiss over her belly then kissed her lips one more time. And suddenly something did occur to him to say. He pulled back and looked at America with a raised eyebrow. "Wait, did the man on the news say _two_ colonies?"

"Oh right!" America chirped, cheeks staining pink. "The doctor might have said something about twins."

The End


End file.
